


pain/pleasure

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, POV Second Person, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian fucks Nico and calls him <i>Daddy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pain/pleasure

There's always been something that throws you off about Nico, and you're pretty certain that it's not just how he looks. Okay fine, maybe there's something to do with how beautiful he looks (you tell yourself you like him with his long hair best all the better to tug on when he's down on his knees sucking your cock but the truth is that he gets to you with his hair cropped short) but it's not just that. Perhaps it's how he slips from language to language so effortlessly and it unsettles you because of how easily he includes and excludes you from a conversation with only one sentence. He goes from _oui, bien sûr_ to _well it was a difficult weekend_ without even batting an eyelid and when he speaks to you in German there's always an uneasy feeling in your gut because he doesn't sound German to you, it's all on point and sure, you understand but something's off and you can't quite put your finger on what it is.

And tonight... Well you don't even know what this is, to be honest. He's in your hotel room with jeans in an appalling shade of blue (but you _like_ that blue, you wear it all the time and so do others in the paddock, his teammate, no, ex-teammate wore them too) and a Mercedes t-shirt on and you're on his lap with your legs bracketing his thighs and your hands on his shoulders and you want him, of course you do, but you're way out of your depth here.

'What do you want,' he asks in English and you groan when he slides his hand down your back to smack your arse.

'Fuck-'

' _Language_ -'

'Sorry, _fff_ \- oh god I,' you gasp when he brings his hand down again. God you don't want this, you want him to talk to you in German but he's sticking to English and you can't have it like this, this doesn't do it for you, you need them German and short haired and brunette and really, Nico's hair is blonde but like this, in the dim light of your hotel room, you can pretend. 'Please,' you say, switching to German, and the words tumble out of your mouth like it's on auto-pilot as you beg him for something, but you don't even know what is it that you want. 

So he stops, stills momentarily, and when he smacks your arse again you cry out and fall forward against him because oh god, he's punishing you for not being able to say it and this is it, isn't it? You ought to be punished for keeping the words with you for so long, for not saying anything when you could have. 'I want to fuck you,' you gasp, god you can barely get the words out of your mouth like this. 'Please, _Daddy_ , oh god-'

'Have you been a good boy?' he asks, finally switching to German.

'Yes, yes Daddy please _please_ ,' you beg and fuck, with anybody else you'd want to be on your knees with them fucking you open but it's _Nico_ you're with, you want him under you and spread out holding his legs apart offering himself to you but he's letting you call him _Daddy_ he's obliging you and you watch him, speechless. His fingers are wet and dripping with lube as he pushes one, two and three into himself, grunting as he fucks himself with them and at the end of it all he's still wearing that fucking Mercedes t-shirt as he hooks his hands under his calves, drawing them up, sticking his arse out for you.

'Go on,' he says and you're practically sobbing when you push into him. You want far too much and everything is converging all at the same time and you're so turned on you know you're not going to last and it's ridiculous god everything is ridiculous _you're ridiculous_ and he's just there beneath you, Mercedes t-shirt riding up his stomach with his cock hard and lips wet and it's obscene and he knows it, there's a dirty grin on his face that says he knows you're enjoying all of this (far too much, perhaps) and you feel the heat in your cheeks, embarrassed.

He wraps his legs around your waist and you groan, hips stuttering forward. He's hot and tight and wet and perfect and his eyes are wide open staring at you, that piercing green that you like on him and on someone else too but that's not the point really, no, it isn't.

'G-going to come, Daddy,' you say, voice shaky, fingernails sinking into his skin and he huffs, digging his heels into the back of your thighs.

'Don't you dare come before me,' he warns, and you feel him clenching around you and this is torture, you're sure of it. His hands are fisted in the bed sheets, god you're not stopping him from touching himself but of course you can't, who are you to prevent him from doing anything when you're in bed with him calling him _Daddy_? He wants you to make him come, wants you to get him off and fuck, you want to get him off so badly, to make him come all over that goddamn Mercedes t-shirt he didn't take off. So you reach for him, jerking him off in rough, haphazard strokes as you fuck him and the most infuriating part of it all has to be that he actually pulls up his t-shirt to just above his nipples and then he's coming all over himself and your hand and you hate him so much, god you do.

You don't get to come inside him. He asks if you want to come on his arse or on his face and you clench your teeth, jaw twitching and then you tell him you want to come on Daddy's face and have Daddy lick you clean afterwards because you're a little boy who has dirtied himself. And he laughs, god the fucker actually leaves you for a bit to clean himself with a couple of tissues before returning to take care of your cock. When you come you're screaming so loud you're pretty sure the people next door can hear you because what was it again, the walls have ears, don't they?

'Why do you do this?' you ask afterwards. You're naked on your bed and he's fully dressed and ready to leave and you had almost asked _why are you doing this for me_ but the words came out all wrong and you're grateful for that on hindsight because really, he's not doing this _just_ for you. He doesn't give a shit about you.

'We've all lost something,' he says as he turns to leave.

'What did you lose?'

His only reply is the slam of the door behind him. You sit alone on the bed, still underneath the covers because you can't bring yourself to move even though you feel disgusting. You replay your conversation with him in your head over and over again, and that's when you realise what it was that had been wrong about his appearance all along.

He's wearing a Mercedes shirt from 2012.

It's 2014.

He knows.

(Of course he does, he knows _everything_ , just that he lets people like Hamilton think he's a naïve little shit who's too dumb to play mind games)

You bite the inside of your cheek and you choke trying to force it down but the tears fall anyway.


End file.
